


It All Went Swimmingly

by Pineapple_Strawberries_15



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man 2
Genre: Button Popping, Crack, First Ever Amazing Spider-Man fic!, Harry pov, I probably got the characters personalities wrong. . ., M/M, Slightly OOC then, Weight Gain, breakin' shit, i don't even know what i'm doing, mentions of alcoholism and insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:50:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapple_Strawberries_15/pseuds/Pineapple_Strawberries_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a friend on tumblr~ :D</p><p>(Not really edited. Sorry for any mistakes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Went Swimmingly

It was all going. . .swimmingly, really, it had been. I had been drinking less, I felt good- happy. Without the fear of a terminal illness hanging over my head I wasn't as embittered towards my old friend Peter; I still had moments of resentment, of insanity, where I felt trapped and betrayed and terrified, but Peter somehow always came through. I had thought that after I was released from prison he would stay away, but he didn't. He came to talk to me, and for once I listened. Since my release, since Peter came back into my life, something sort of bloomed between us.

It started with long pauses and long nights just sitting together in silence. We were both busy men; Peter was in college and I was rebuilding my fathers corporation- weeding out it's corruption with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D.- who could be a little hand wavy themselves, but good none-the-less so long as they were paid with the best my company could offer. The point is, we were both busy, Peter and I, but we still made time for one another. After a while it wasn't enough, we wanted more.

Somehow Peter slowly began staying over, and I certainly didn't mind; I own a big mansion, it gets lonely, especially since the only staff I kept working were the Custodians. Soon, spending the night involved Peter leaving his toothbrush on the sink, taking over a drawer in my bedroom, studying in one of the empty studies for ridiculously long amounts of time; one day I came home from a long day of work only to discover Peter waiting for me in the living room, cramming Chinese in his mouth.

I couldn't resist the smile as he offered me one of the little white boxes and some chopsticks. It was while eating Chinese take away, mouth half full, when I asked “will you just move in with me already?” And he replied, “I thought I already had.” I swear, soy sauce had gone up my nose. We ended up eating monstrous amounts of fattening Chinese that night- I had a food baby that was mostly egg rolls. He'd sprawled out on the couch, head on the arm rest, and beckoned me over to his arms. At that point I was still skinny with bad circulation (cold hands) and looked like the wind could blow me over- while Peter was this broad, muscled, warmth.

He pet my hair, staring at the ceiling, I nuzzled the stubble along his jaw with my forehead and kissed his neck. Sometime, in our lazy food haze, one of his hands found it's way under my shirt and it rested on the small curve of my distended stomach- something fluttered within me, but I didn't really understand it at the time. But now I know that I just felt comfortable and loved.

That night was just the beginning, and not all of it was very relevant to the story. After Peter moved in we began eating a lot of Chinese, he seemed reluctant to eat out- and I didn't blame him at all considering whenever he did eat out something usually went wrong, so I let him have a lot of control over what we ate- I certainly didn't want to think very much about the meals. Much of the foods that my inner model screamed “NO!” at, were exactly what Peter picked, but I didn't start complaining. Now, I still ate the occasional leafy thing, but most of my meals had either become fast food, or the rich fattening foods I was expected to eat when meeting business partners. After a while, my nice fitted suits. . . weren't so fitted anymore; I didn't exactly have the time to let them out, and I certainly didn't have the time to exercise. I expected my metabolism to do most of the work, considering my age, but the bastard betrayed me!

One day I had trouble getting the button closed on one of my favorite pair of dress slacks, only after I cramped my fingers did I get the button in the little hole. I couldn't even stick a finger in the pants anymore, not even a pinky, but I didn't have time to dwell on it, or to order some new clothes, I had to get to work and, well, work! I grabbed my dress shirt and found the arms were getting quite tight, and it couldn't quite cover the bump my belly was becoming. It was a little shocking, seeing the sliver of underbelly peaking out, but it wasn't so much bigger than what my food babies had looked like when I'd first started going out with Peter- okay, it was a bit bigger, my stomach had never seemed so rounded, my pants never so tight all over, but it didn't seem to be that much of an issue at the time. I managed to put on my suit jacket just fine, after all.

“Looking good,” Peter said as I bounded into the kitchen to grab a quick cup of coffee. “I picked up some breakfast for you after this mornings patrol.” And lo and behold, there was a McDonalds breakfast sitting on the kitchens island, steaming on a plate. Peter was scarfing down pancakes and had a couple McGriddles on his plate, I wrinkled my nose. I really didn't like the heavy feeling I usually got after eating McDonalds, but I still managed to eat a few McGriddles in my morning hunger, and more pancakes doused in syrup than I probably needed.

Several more days of the fast food breakfasts and dinners and the same fitted suit I'd worth a few days past became uncomfortably tight. My thighs were becoming soft and felt like a couple of fatty sausages, my butt was basically starting to resemble the earth, in my dramatic opinion, and my “package” was becoming a bit claustrophobic. I KNEW I should take some time to get some new fitted clothes, okay, probably go up a few sizes in everything, but still I procrastinated. Still. Even after I spent the morning rolling on the bed, grunting, and forcing my pants over my ass. My dress shirts were starting to strain a little more, and instead of a sliver it seemed like a little more belly was showing each day. Thankfully I had a suit jacket that I could just keep buttoned for now, to hide the growing girth.

Amazingly, my Spider-Man didn't seem to care that I was carrying a few, A FEW I SAY- LET ME BE DELUSIONAL, extra pounds of fat- fat, not muscle, I literally have gained no muscle, how depressing. “Peter,” I hesitantly said a few hours before dinner a couple weeks later on my day off (I also took off the day before, but who's counting?)- after shoving myself in too tight suits for two more weeks. “Hmm?” He questioned, shoving some sort of cheesy snack into his mouth. “Perhaps we should eat out tonight? Or perhaps cook something?” Now, the idea of the two of us cooking something was ridiculous, we certainly weren't chefs- though we could make Ramen and eggs.

I noticed him giving me a once over, eyes resting a little too long on where my belly hung just a little over my jeans, jeans I thought would have been roomier and more flattering than my suits- but really they just made my ass look bigger than it was and the button was straining to the point I knew it would pop if I gave it another day. “You sure?” He asked. And I'll blame the second glass of gin I had been sipping, for the unholy thing I became but a moment later.

“Yes I'm sure! Why wouldn't I be? Is it because my clothes are fitting a bit tighter? I know they are! I'll fucking take care of it for you if you're so ashamed to be seen with your fat fucking cow!” I then proceeded to slam my glass on the table, thus breaking it and making a bloody, literally, mess of my hand. “Oh.” I said, high pitched. My eyes watered and I knew I wasn't well. Peter stared at me with wide eyes and a gormless expression before tugging me towards the kitchen to get the glass out of my hand. He 'tssked' and 'tutted' and cleaned it up with the gentleness only someone who truly gave a damn could muster.

And I stood there sniffling, letting him take care of me, as I had been for a while now when it came to meals and medication and alcohol monitoring and when I had night-terrors or breakdowns or irrational tantrums. That wasn't to say I didn't take care of him too, I do, but Peter always seemed to want to do more and maybe he was a bit of a controlling mother hen, but then, so was his aunt. He filled a room, my Peter, my Spider-Man, and made me feel warm and loved. That's what I thought as he wrapped my hand in gauze and kissed my knuckles gently.

“Did you still want to eat out?” His voice was hoarse, and I shook my head, “No.” No, I really just wanted to sink into the ground and die for my reaction. He shrugged, smiled, “anything you want in particular?” I shook my head, “I don't want anything.” Peter frowned, worried, “Harry. . . I didn't mean to upset yah. I think you're beautiful, even if a bit rounder an' softer. I'd love you twiggy or if you took up the whole damn bed, seriously. I really did not want to make you feel anything but gorgeous-” “I feel gorged.” “-you're wonderful and I think your tight clothes are sexy and I'd love to show yah off to some fancy people, or to that pizza joint I like, or to my aunt. I'm proud of you no matter what,” “Alright Peter. I believe you.” I was smiling by now, mostly because he was babbling and rubbing his neck and ducking his head- all his little nervous tics.

It took a few more tries to shut him up, but catching his lips in a bruising kiss seemed to work best. His hands rested on my plushy sides, (love handles! how had I not noticed those things creeping out like a muffin?!) and his tall form leaned against the island, my weight pressed into him as my tongue met his. My stomach rumbled, but I was so turned on by my lovely slender boyfriend I just wanted to ignore it, but Peter pulled away with a smile. “Chinese?” I couldn't help but laugh.

We spent that night eating Chinese on the couch, the arousal never went away though. I managed to eat more pork and egg-rolls than I should have, and some things I didn't actually know the name of. You'd think I'd out eat Peter, but while I became more and more stuffed, he could keep going. By the time we were both flushed and filled to capacity, he lay down with his head on the arm rest and opened his arms wide, beckoning for me to come and cuddle him. I arched an eyebrow, he rolled his eyes and gently took my undamaged hand, pulling me into his embrace.

My full weight against him didn't even seem to phase him. My belly, rounded more than ever and definitely showcasing just how chubby I was, pressed into his stomach; my wide and plush bottom ballooned behind me, pressing into the couches back, yet Peter's strong arms and body kept me comfortable and left me with no danger of toppling off the couch. “Are you comfortable?” I asked, worriedly as one of his legs slipped between my thighs and he adjusted us both to a very cuddly position, one where I was still resting the majority of my weight on him. “Very.” He said, burring his nose him my hair. We ended up sleeping like that all night.

The next morning I had to get up for work, while Peter had the day off from school and work, and it seemed next to impossible to get off the couch without waking my lover. The plan was: first I had to untwist our legs and get Peter's arms to flop to his sides, then I had to get in push up position and try to suck in my stomach enough where it wouldn't wake him. Of course, I failed and ended up crashing to the hardwood floor in an undignified heap- making a loud enough noise it should have woke Peter. It didn't. He snored and rolled over.

I went upstairs to get ready for work. My next dilemma was trying to fit into one of my suits. I looked about and found what had to be my roomiest suit and sighed. I grabbed a handful of my stomach, which had definitely grown since last night- and since I'd last been to work. My hands moved to my butt, cupping the cheeks and letting go- they jiggled. My thighs rubbed together when I walked and my cheeks were a little rounder and my gosh I was chubby! I sat heavily onto my bed, mentally preparing myself to squeeze into a suit several sizes too small. A suit that had been several sizes too small for weeks now.

I grabbed the pants, and they almost didn't want to budge much farther than my knees. I started twisting and shimmying and got them half way up my thighs, I stared at the ceiling, praying to the God's or whatever, and hopped until the pants were overtaken by my ass cheeks. This was the hard part. I clenched and practically dragged myself across the floor like something out of a horror movie exorcism until at least the majority of my butt was covered. I knew I would never cover the whole thing at this rate. While the pants wouldn't cover my ass, and I would never be able to zip them again, my stomach found itself making it even harder for me to button them. I hopped, hoping that the jiggly mass would get the hell out of my way so I could button my horrid pants. Amazingly, I eventually did get it buttoned.

I was in so much PAIN. The seams all dug into fat, and I swore they were ready to split in two the moment I unclenched my butt cheeks. It was difficult to move, and the fabric was strained an unreasonable amount, but thankfully today was destined to be a light work day. I wasn't so much into the science portion of my work, more paperwork and approvals and overlooking all the boring stuff- so I'd at least get to hide behind my desk all day.

With a pant, I slowly, VERY VERY SLOWLY, inched towards one of my black (slimming) dress shirts. I got the whole shirt buttoned and I looked like I had breasts, meanwhile the buttons were hanging on by mere threads- you could see the shirt holes stretch, showing my pale flab underneath. I could barely move my arms even! “How did I let this get so bad?” I groaned, grabbed the suit jacket, and found the tougher material wouldn't even allow me to button it. “Fuck it. FUCK IT!” I called my assistant, told her I would NOT be doing work from the building today, instead I'd be doing it all from my home office- that was becoming a bit more frequent lately.

I marched out of the room, not even mindful of my straining clothes, and down the stairs where I jiggled and felt every soft inch of me stretch the fabric that “covered it,” but I was determined to get through the day wearing the damn things since it took a sinful amount of time to get them on. I stopped at the kitchen to get some coffee, and surprisingly Peter was already there, instead of sleeping like he should be. He shook his head at my outfit, “I know you're a bit vain, Harry, but- and don't be offended, but you need new clothes.” I grunted in response and grabbed an apple, my coffee, and kissed him lightly on the cheek, “I'm aware, on both accounts. I'm having my assistant get some new outfits today, she's observant enough where she can guess my new size. Working in the home office today.” With that I left my lover standing in the kitchen thoughtfully munching on his cereal.

Around 10am, Peter delivered a plate full of biscuits, sausage, and gravy along with some pancakes. I thought nothing of it as I took time away from the computer to inhale the meal, Peter had obviously noticed I had only taken an apple for breakfast and wanted to make sure I wouldn't have to leave my work. He was thoughtful like that.

Around noon I was disturbed again with a large amount of crispy, greasy, home made chicken. “I decided to learn to cook, using my Aunt's cookbook.” Peter grinned cheekily and left me to inhale that meal too. Several times that day he brought me snacks and coffee and hot coco. I'd obviously worried him yesterday after my freakout. I felt bad, hopefully I'd get to make it up to him later. I hadn't gotten out of my chair all day, but I was full- I felt weighed down and a bit sluggish and maybe even a bit wider all over- more than I had felt that morning. I burped and shook my head- uncertain if I'd even be able to eat dinner that night.

I tried to stand on my own with my papers, without assistance from my desk or the arm rests of my old desk chair, but before I was even halfway standing I found gravity harshly slamming me back into the chair. The chair creaked loudly, and rocked back, my heart leapt in my chest- I thought the whole chair would fall back and I'd have a head injury to go with my hand. There was the sound of crunching plastic and metal grinding together; the chairs level raise snapped and the whole chair- and myself- crashed down to the shortest level.

My face was red hot as I white knuckled the arm rests, I thought 'it has to be over,' but a second after I was brought to the shortest level, the chair broke off it's flimsy (FLIMSY I SAY) rod and I was on my back in my broken chair. “Okay, now it's over.” I reached up and gripped the desk top, grunted and brought myself to a standing position. I certainly didn't think I'd gotten THAT fat since Peter had moved in. I thought, 'just a bit chubby!' but apparently I was a little more than 'Just a bit chubby.'

Suddenly the door to my offices was sliding open, forgetting the chair, the need to pee, and the horrible tightness of my clothes, I managed to usher Peter out; he grinned, “work all done, beautiful?” I simply nodded and he let one of his arms slide through mine as we walked through the house. “I ordered dinner from that Italian restaurant you like, but I did manage to make an edible chocolate fudge cake. At least I assume it's edible.” I laughed and shook my head, “You are fattening me up.” I didn't feel like getting upset like I had the previous night, in fact, while I was embarrassed, I was also relieved that Peter was taking everything in stride and seemed to even be making sure I kept eating as steadily as before- not giving a damn that his lover kept expanding.

The dinner was wonderful, even if I had felt full before I still managed to pack in a third plate of noodles, bread, and soup. I felt beyond heavy, my stomach hard, and I found myself wondering how fat I could get before the kitchen chair broke. Everything in the house was old- old family and old money- old; it was a valid worry- also the damn chair made a noise every time I so much as breathed.

“Dessert?” Peter asked, and I could NOT refuse his sweet face. So I just took several chugs of wine and nodded absently, even though I was so full I felt like exploding. His damn puppy dog face somehow got me to eat half of that giant chocolate fudge monstrosity-sized cake. I tried to bring myself to keep eating, because he was beaming at me so brightly, but I knew I just couldn't do it. I let out a sigh and tried adjusting my legs- thighs wearing out the cloth of the fabric with every rub; in fact they were falling asleep as the fat dug into the hard wooden chair- even my ass was falling asleep as it dug into the chairs back and spilled slightly over the sides (rich clothes make some damn strong fabric).

“Oh, one more bite? That's all you have left on your plate.” Peter encouraged- that one little bite was awfully big, but I somehow managed to raise the fork to my mouth and swallowed it. The fork rested back on the table and I washed it all down with another glass of wine. Peter got up and started to clear the table, “Let me help you,” I said breathily, but found it hard to get up, and something was digging painfully into my stomach- causing a sharp pain. I reached down trying to lift the heavy rock my stomach had become, but felt so tired I just took in a breath and let my stomach back down. Suddenly the pain was gone and something zipped past Peters head.

That made me get up in a flash! I thought he was being shot at! He had dropped all the plates and had got to my side immediately, checking for injuries. He seemed satisfied after a moment that I was fine, and after patting every inch of him myself he was fine too. I turned towards where the 'thing' had zipped past Peter and spied something shiny on the floor. I walked over to it and bent down- it was my pants button. My face turned pure red. To make matters worse I was so full I had to rest my hands on my knees before I could even raise myself back up.

Peter gently helped me back up and took the button, “wow, I didn't think it would actually happen.” He smiled and kissed my temple- that tricky shit had fed me all day on purpose! I didn't dwell on it though, because a draft from behind was catching my attention. “I'm going to go change.” I grumbled. Peter laughed and followed me all the way to the bedroom, “aww, you're so cute! I love it when your face is all red, like a cherry.” He began kissing my neck and arms and face, helping to get my pants off my chunky thighs. He ripped my shirt off, there went more of my buttons- and suddenly we were on our bed.

He shook off his own pants and boxers, threw off his t-shirt and gently pressed his lips against mine. He caressed every soft, pudgy, overfull inch of me- I couldn't help but run my hands along his lovely lean muscled arms and over those dangerous looking hips. We made love better than ever before that night and I woke feeling lighter and more free than I had in quite a while.

 


End file.
